


Under the Big Top

by Sherlock_and_his_hobbit



Category: Avengers, MCU, Marvel
Genre: Abusive Relationship, FTM, M/M, Teenage!clint, Trans!Clint, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock_and_his_hobbit/pseuds/Sherlock_and_his_hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clint was sixteen he ran away to join the circus, from there he became a SHEILD member and then an Avenger, this is his story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The circus had been an escape for Clarice, she had needed one, school was stifling,so were her parents, the entire stupid town that she had spent her whole life in was.

The circus was an annual event that had everyone excited for weeks, it was the only thing that happened in the small town, which Clarice resided in. Clarice went by herself this year, preferring it to the company of her parents who would nag her to dress more lady like and her younger brother who got everything she wanted naturally.  
She watched the girls in their tights swinging from the air, contorting themselves into unimaginable shapes, the magician making things disappear and reappear with a flick of his wand and few made up words that he called magic spells, she watched a man with a top hat and a clearly fake exaggeratedly curled up moustache get lions to jump through hoops and roar at the crowd, white teeth bared as they tossed their golden manes. It was magical, and it represented anywhere but here and that was all Clarice wanted.  
After the circus she wondered around the fair ground, breathing in the smell of over priced fair food and listening to the music meant to entice people to try rigged games. It all seemed like magic, fairy lights strung up in every corner, and the white tents towering above everything else like a small paradise.  
Clarice found herself away from the noise and the lights of the fair and in the more residential part of the circus where the caravans were set up; towards the left of them was a small ‘office’, another caravan, though smaller in size that had an A4 piece of paper with ' Office' written across it stuck to the door. The caravan had a sign saying 'Jobs Available,' she shouldn't, she knew she shouldn't but she did.  
With only slight hesitation she walked into the office. An overweight man in his forties wearing a grey sweat stained singlet leered at her as she entered. "What d'ya want laddy?" His voice was the heavy rattle of a smoker's voice.  
"You said there were jobs available." Clarice tried to keep her voice from shaking, she was actually doing this.  
"Yep." The man didn't offer any more information; no wonder they were still looking for people to work here.  
"And what jobs would they be?" She wasn't going to back down, not now.  
"Cleaning up after the animals, cleaning costumes." The man paused, beady eyes trailing down her body like she was a piece of meat.  
Only slightly perturbed she asked him, "And what would one have to do get this job?"  
"How old are ya kid?"  
"Eighteen." She lied, it was only a couple of years off anyway.  
"Sure ya are." The man chuckled; it was an awful fleemy chuckle that sent a shiver down Clarice's spine, "Fill in these forms then."  
She took the forms, they spoke of how everything she did would be at her own risk and that she would be traveling around the country, she would get fifty dollars a week along with free board and food.  
The forms finally asked for her name, she stared at the empty space to fill in for a little to long.  
The awfully fleemy chuckle started up again, "Make it a good one, you won't get to choose again."  
Clarice took a deep breath, she was really going to do this, and scrawled down 'Clinton Barton' ticked the 'M' box next to gender and scribble a signature that he had never used before on the dotted line.  
"Be here four in the morn'n tomorrow, we leave at five."


	2. Chapter Two

Clint stared at the half empty suitcase, he had lived in this place for the entirety of his life and this was all he had to show for it? He was going to leave the majority of his things behind, packing only the few items of male clothing he had managed to buy for himself and a single photo of his parents and brother.  
He didn't sleep at all that night; didn’t even attempt to, his could he?  
He left at three; living behind a note with only one line, 'Don't look for me.' And as Clint climbed out of the window a smile spread across his face, no more Clarice Barkley, he was leaving her behind forever.

 

The circus ground was covered with people running around like headless chooks, stuffing things on trucks and loading crates of animals, trying to do everything as quickly as possible so they could escape from the pouring rain.  
Clint stared around in shock, eyes wide at the disarray before him.  
"You're late!" Boomed a voice behind him, the one of the sweaty over weight man who had given Clint his job.  
Clint glanced at his watch, ten to four, but decided against arguing the point.  
"Over in that tent," the man pointed a stubby finger with a finger nail that had been worn to the stub, "Are crates of costumes, you are going to pack those."  
"Yes, sir." Clint told him and hurried towards the crates. His mind started to sing, I'm really doing this, this is really happening, oh my god, this is really happening.

As he lugged a heavy box across the what was once a grassy fuels but was now covered in mud, he watched the people running around, trying to guess what their jobs were, it was weird seeing these people out of their costumes. A group of lithe girls wearing jeans and a various assortment of coloured t-shirts ran past him to the truck, hell bent on escaping from the rain; these were acrobats, obviously. A short man with huge bags under his eyes and a scowl was the last person Clint would of thought to be a clown but he wore a t-shirt, which identified him as such.  
"Hurry up boy!" A man, who Clint recognized as the sword swallower,  
shouted above the howling of the wind.

Clint ended up squashed between the scowling clown and another man who he couldn't place.  
"So you're the new kid." The unknown man stated.  
"Yes."  
"I'm Jeffery." He introduced himself, "The Fantastic Fire Handler."  
"Clint," the new name taste weird on his tongue, but in a good way.  
"You be here for them gymnasts?" The clown piped in, "They be bringing boys like you from every town."  
"No just looking for a job."  
"And an escape?" Jeffery guessed.  
"Yeah."  
"Aren't we all?" The clown sighed and the three men feel into silence listening to the wind howl and the rain drum against the canvas of the trailer of the truck.


	3. Chapter Three

Clint loved his job, even if the majority of the time was spent washing clothing, polishing leather and cleaning the animals enclosure, for the first time he felt like he wasn't being forced to live his life the way others wanted him to, he was a free man.  
Clint learnt a lot about circus life, mainly that it was hardly glamorous. From the outside you might expect a few freaks, like the bearded lady or the man who claimed to be able to read your thoughts, but you'd also expect some glamour, the girls who swung themselves off tight ropes and the man who presented the circus in his fancy suit, but no the entire cast was a collection of the freaks, the misfits and the weirdos; people who didn't really belong anywhere, people like Clint.

He shoveled up another pile of horse poo and dropped it in the wheelbarrow, it wasn't his favorite job, not by a long shot, but hey it meant he had a roof over his head at night.  
"Clint!" Boomed a deep voice.  
He spun around, Marcus, the Lion Tamer, grinned at him.  
"Yes?" Clint wiped the sweat off his forehead leaning the shovel against the stable wall.  
"Come here, I want to show you something."  
Clint followed Marcus tentatively, he had been working here two months now and he was pretty sure all the new guy pranks had stopped but you never know.  
Close up it was easy to see Marcus was a lot younger than he had first appeared, probably not much older than Clint. His black hair that was gelled back during performances naturally grew in every direction possible, he had pale skin and high cheek bones, an extremely attractive face once the ridiculous fake moustache he wore during the show was removed.  
Marcus lead him to an empty field, in it grew weeds that would poison the horses if allowed to graze there, but the field wasn’t as empty as when Clint had last seen it, instead their was a target board about half way across it, and by the open gate a bow and arrow.  
"Everyone here starts off like you but then we get our acts, and hire new stable boys, you’re the first in a while that wasn’t dragged in by a pretty gymnast.”  
“When was the last?”  
“When I joined up.” Figured, someone like Marcus hardly had to join the circus to find a pretty girl that was interest in him. “Ever used a bow?" Marcus steered the conversation back on track.  
Clint shook his head.  
Marcus smiled, it was dangerous smile, all angles and glistening white teeth: he looked like a shark.  
Marcus handed him the bow, Clint wrapped his hands around the it, experimentally holding it up like he'd seen the guys in the movies do.  
Marcus snorted, "It isn't quite as simple as that." He ntook the bow back and pointed to the upper part of it's wooden frame, "This is the upper limb," he pointed to the lower part of the frame, "Lower limb, and in the middle," Marcus gestured to a piece of the bow that was clearly made for someone to hold, "Is known as the grip. Here where the string threads through," Marcus pointed to a little catch that held the string, "Is the nock, that of course is the string, and finally we have what's known as the serving where, as the name suggests, you serve the arrow." Marcus held the bow out so Clint could see the little place where one would click an arrow in.  
Clint stared at the bow for a second, renaming all the parts in his head as his eyes swept across it.  
"Not only will you have a bow and arrow but you'll want this." Marcus held up a piece of leather with a few fabric straps dangling off it. "Put this on your wrist, otherwise when you let an arrow go the strings going to hit your wrist and it's going to sting like hell."  
Clint obeyed Marcus' instructions, sliding it onto his left wrist and buckling it up.

 

Marcus smiled at Clint, handing him the bow again, "Alright, now you want to be side in to your target," Clint angled himself so he was perpendicular to the painted board that stood about fifteen metres away from him in the field. "Stick your left hand out towards the target, holding the grip of the bow."  
Clint did as he was told, itching to have a go at shooting the arrow. He could visualise doing it, pulling back the string, watching the arrow sail through the air and land smack dab in the middle of the target board.  
Marcus handed him an arrow, "Click that into place."  
Clint lowered the bow and fumbled around for a second before he managed to secure the arrow.  
"And back into position. Keep your index and middle finger on the string either side of the arrow, and pull back, aim and fire!"  
Clint did that and watched in awe as the arrow whistled through the air flying strong and true to its point; which just so happened to be a few metres in front of Clint on the ground, nowhere near the intended target target.

 

Despite the lack of natural talent that Clint possessed he worked hard, every morning from three to four he practiced by himself, and at night eleven to twelve with Marcus. Though Marcus wasn't exactly a great help, he had only managed to hit the board a few times himself, but he provided a constant chatter and appraisal every time Clint managed to hit the board, which was now happening every time he let an arrow fly; but he wouldn't have anything to perform until he could hit a bullseye every time, a feat that he had still not managed.

"How old are you Clint?" Marcus asked from where he lounged out on the grass behind Clint, propped up on his elbows so he could watch Clint continuously miss the target.  
Clint turned around to glare at him, not that he was angry at Marcus, just at the fact that the arrows got so close to the little red circle but flat out refused to hit it, he was starting to believe that the little circle had some sort of magnetic field. "What's it to you?" Clint had learnt that he wasn't the only under eighteen that Bruce had let lie about their age but he was still worried about being sent back home.  
Marcus laughed, it was a beautiful sound, befitting of a beautiful boy, something that Marcus clearly was, high cheek bones and ice blue eyes that contrasted with his raven black hair. "Just asking, no need to get so touchy, I ain't going to tell anyone, I joined the circus when I was fourteen."  
Clint pulled back another arrow, let go of the string and let it sail right onto the bright orange circle that went around the red one, exactly where all his other arrows were. "Sixteen."  
"Thank god." Marcus said from the grass.  
"Why?" Clint questioned as he pulled back another arrow.  
"Because, if you were any younger the fact that laying here gives me a perfect view of your ass would be creepy."  
"What?" Clint spun around before he could see the arrow land, once again on the orange circle.  
Marcus started laughing again, "It is a very nice ass."  
Clint blushed bright red, not sure how to respond. "So, uh, how old are you?" Clint stuttered.  
"Seventeen."  
"That's... good."  
Marcus laughed pushing off the grass and waltzed over to Clint, "You're adorable, you know that?"  
Clint dropped his bow just as Marcus wrapped his arms around Clint's waist. The young archer was about half a head taller shorter than Marcus. Clint stretched his neck arm, lips reaching for Marcus' rosy red ones.  
Marcus pulled away just before their lips met, "When you hit a bullseye, Clint."

 

Clinton returned to his trailer, well the trailer he shared with Jonathan, who exercised all the animals, and Henry who sold the tickets, with a smile on his face.  
He tiptoed to the bathroom, Henry and Jonathan were asleep, unlike Clint they slept during the night and worked the day, Clint doing the close to the opposite, catching three hours at night and four during the middle of the day.  
Clint stripped quickly, yanking off his grotty t-shirt and jeans, pulling the socks out of his boxers before pulling them off too and wriggling out of his binder. He made his way to the shower but not before he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he paused to look at the reflection that blinked back at him.  
After several minutes of careful study he came to the question of 'What the hell does Marcus see in me?' Clint looked like he always had, a prepubescent boy, chubby checks and wide eyes which were accompanied by a too high voice; his body was all wrong, if Marcus knew what would he do? He didn't imagine the fierce lion tamer would be all too keen on dating a tranny.  
Clint yanked his clothes back on foregoing a shower; he snuck back out of the trailer. Finding hormones illegally was hard, finding any drugs illegally was hard, but especially drugs targeted to a very specific clientele who could also get it legally if they chose to jump through hoops like the lions that Marcus tamed.  
He knew the places to look, not the grungy streets where you'd score cheap drugs or the expensive neighborhoods where you got the quality stuff. You found the queer neighborhoods, with the queer centers and the queer bookshops, it was unlikely, and Clint had spent a lot of time hanging around queer places and heading home disappointed, he had ran out of his last box of injections a month ago and was becoming desperate.  
This time he was lucky, he returned with nothing in his pocket where their had once been a wad of cash but a box of syringes that would keep him going for quite a while.  
Hormones wouldn't fix everything but they would help.

 

Clint hit a bullseye on his second shot the next day, he was already picking up another arrow, not even bothering to watch the arrow fly across the field knowing that it would hit the orange circle, when there was a cheer behind him. "Wh-?" Clint's mouth hung open as he looked up at the board, because right there in the center, was his arrow. "I did it." He told himself quietly. "I did it!" This time it was a victorious yell, he spun around to Marcus, who had made his toward Clint, a flirtatious smile on his pretty face.  
"Well, I did promise."  
The kiss wasn't like the movies and the books and the songs said it would be, there was no fire works and electricity didn't buzz through Clint, but it wasn't bad. Clint curled his hands through Marcus' already messy hair and pulled him down to Clint's height, he was about a head taller and kissed him again, this time it was better.


	4. Chapter Four

Missing a bullseye became a rare occurrence, Clint hit the little red dot every single time, no matter how far out in the paddock Marcus managed to lug the target board, the pulling back of the bow and the firing of an arrow became second nature. Kissing Marcus was no longer a rare occasion either.

Marcus had actually bothered to get out of bed for one of Clint's predawn shooting practices, the flood lights filled the paddock with an eerie glow that quickly faded into the blackness that blanketed the fair ground. Clint pulled back the string, it didn't even take any effort anymore, the first few weeks had been full of constantly aching muscle but he’s body had grown used to and adapted to the strain of firing the arrow. The archer released the string and watched the arrow fly until it collided with the red dot that sat in the middle of the target.  
"So you've been at it for a month, and I believe you are ready to go on show." Clint startled at the sleepy voice. Marcus was where he usually was but not propped up on elbows instead he had been laying flat on his back with his eyes closed, the archer had just assumed he had fallen asleep again; it wasn’t unusual to catch any member of the circus taking a nap at any chance possible.  
"Really?" Clint's voice was hopeful, he would love to be able to show of his new skill not to mention a break from cleaning up various animal shit.  
"Yep, I remember I spent three months trying to perfect using that thing, In the end the lion tamer had a heart attack and it didn't matter that I never actually managed to hit a bullseye."  
"Wait, you never hit one?” Clint gasped, scandalized at the admission. "I think you're going to have to work for your next kiss.” He smirked.  
Marcus laughed, that beautiful laugh of his, "Sure, just as soon as you manage lion taming."  
Clint snorted, "No way am I going near those things."  
"They're really not that bad. But no time for that, we need to get you a costume." Marcus' eyes raked across Clint's body, licking his lips, the archer squirmed under the attention, "Preferably something which shows off that wonderful ass of yours."

Clint ended up in a costume that wasn’t overly flash, or too tight fitting This was despite the fact that Marcus seemed to have an endless supply of clothing that clung to Clint’s frame and despite the hormones Clint still saw his hips as two wide, thighs to curvy and no matter how tightly he wrapped the bandages around his chest there were still unwanted lumps under his shirt. So black denim pants, that were a little on the tight side, but hey at least they weren’t actually tights, and a vibrantly purple muscle t-shirt. Clint stepped out of the change room, tugging at the shirt, did it really have to be so purple?  
“Twirl for me baby.” Marcus grinned at Clint, spinning around his finger. Clint did as asked, spinning around in a rather unenthusiastic circle. “Looking good! But are you sure we couldn’t get you into some tights?”  
“You don’t wear tights for your performance.” Clint scowled at him.  
“I know, it truly is a tragedy, the audience weeps every time.” Marcus moaned a cocky grin spreading across his face, “And that reminds me, if I have to wear a dumb ass moustache-“  
“There is no way I’m wearing that monstrosity that you seem to believe is facial hair.”  
“Well, I’m insulted. But I was just going to suggest some purple face paint, to match the shirt.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions Clint binding using bandages, just a reminder that this is unsafe and should be avoided if at all possible.

Clint stood behind the curtain, that separated the performing tent from the still chilly spring air, now that he was about to do this he was wondering how he had allowed Marcus to convince him to wear jeans that were this tight, what happened if he couldn’t maneuver properly and he missed? And shot an audience member? What happened if they all thought he was a girl? What happened if the socks that were shoved down his boxers moved? Oh god, did he look like he had a boner? Clint tried to glance down to survey his crotch without making it look like he was surveying his crotch, which didn’t exactly work out too well; the director came up to tell him he was on and gave him an odd look as Clint straightened up quickly, still unsure if he was going out there to shoot arrows looking like he had a raging erection.  
“You’re on in,” The director glanced at his watch, “4-3--Break a leg kiddo.”  
Clint walked into the arena, first thing he noticed was the absolute glare of the lights, he couldn’t see any of the audience, and he wasn’t sure whether that made it worse or not. Clint tried to walk confidently up onto the stage, but scuttling would of been a more appropriate term, Luke, who presented the shows, boomed out to the audience, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the one, the only, THE AMAZING HAWKEYE!”  
Clint startled at the name, Hawkeye? Really? But there wasn’t much he could do about it at this point, so he simply allowed Luke to leave the stage, held his bow at the first target, and fired, his heart leapt as it sailed through the air, if he missed… thunk! A smile danced across Clint’s face, bullseye. He pulled back his bow and aimed for the next target, bullseye, and the final one, bullseye again. It was a simple enough performance, but got a cheer from the crowds that put a smile of Clint’s face that would stay there for a week. 

 

Things became a blur after that, doing shows, tentative kisses with Marcus, well not so tentative on Marcus’ part but Clint was nervous and scared and oh god what was Marcus going to do when he found out? Marcus never pushed Clint for more than he was willing to give though, and for that the archer was grateful. Shooting arrows almost became boring, he never missed and the action of lining up the arrow and pulling the string became repetitive.  
One afternoon Marcus brought a box of tennis balls with him, “Try hitting these.” It was like starting out all over again, he could visualise doing it, see himself pulling the strings, letting the arrow fly and it connecting flying through the air and hitting it, but it wasn’t happening. The balls always ended up just above or below where the arrow sailed, leaving Clint wanting to scream in frustration. After two hours of Marcus lazily throwing the balls into the air and Clint shooting arrows at them but never hitting a single of the stupid green balls, Clint announced that he was going to call it a day.  
Marcus grinned vapidly at him, he walked over to Clint wrapping his arms around his waist, “Not to pleased with the tennis balls?”  
“If I could I’d shoot them all down with arrows.” Clint joked, burying his head into Marcus’ chest.  
“Jay and Nate are doing pony rides tonight, come round, let’s forget about the tennis balls.”

Clint stayed in the miserable excuse for a shower for far too long, long after the hot water had disappeared. He stood there shaking, the cold water freezing him to his core, but he knew that as soon as he got out of this shower he’d have no excuse to stay in this his trailer.  
Clint dragged his feet the entire all to short distance to Marcus’ trailer, desperately hoping someone would call him over, tell him they had a job he needed to do. There was no such like. He could always tell Marcus that he wasn’t ready, to leave it like that, let things continue as they were, because things were fine, they were good even; but it was going to happen eventually and the longer Clint waited the worse it would be, the more rejection would hurt.  
Knock, knock, knock.  
He felt like he was going to die, he had never told anyone before, he’d run away before he had had to say anything. Where could he run to now?  
The door swung open to reveal a completely shirtless Marcus. “Took your time.” He smirked, stepping aside to let Clint in.  
Before Clint had time to breathe his back was pressed up against the door, Marcus’ mouth on his, hot and urgent, his hands braced on the door, arms bracketing around the archer.  
Thoughts of having to tell Marcus something fled from his mind and Clint finds his hands wondering down Marcus’ sides and he is gorgeous, and Clint feels Marcus’ hands sliding between his back and the door, and firm hands squeeze his ass and then Marcus’ lips aren’t on his any more and oh he had forgotten about this whole needing oxygen thing. Marcus is whispering in his ear, and the sultry tone is enough to drown out all of the archer’s thoughts. “I thought that ass was good when I was just looking at it.”  
Clint lets out the most pathetic noise, pushing forward into Marcus where he can feel the hard outline in Marcus’ pants. Shit.  
Clint shoves Marcus away with what might be possibly a bit more force than is entirely necessary but how the hell did he forget?  
“I need to talk to you first.”  
Marcus just smiled at him, “First time babe? That’s fine I can teach you all sorts of things; make you feel so good.” He sauntered back to where Clint still stood with his back against the wall.  
“No, I mean, well yes, but there’s other things too.”  
“Alright.” Marcus exhaled, holding his hands up in defeat, “Come sit down.” Marcus sprawled himself across his bed, sending the blood rushing right back Clint’s vagina.  
Clint sat down next to Marcus’ feet leaving as much space as possible between them and making sure he was the one closest to the door, just in case this all went pear shaped. His stomach churned nervously, he felt like he was about to throw up. What was he meant to do if this didn’t go well? People ran away to join the circus as a last resort, he wasn’t old enough to get a job anywhere and he could hardly go home and shit, shit, shit. “Sorry, I need to, I-” Clint was up, and had taken the couple of strides to the door, panic making his blood run cold; this was such a stupid idea.  
“Hey!” Marcus slammed his hand against the door, holding it shut, trapping Clint in the caravan. The archer baulked away from Marcus, he felt like a caged animal. “Whatever you need to tell me, tell me.” The tone wasn’t reassuring, it sounded like a threat.  
Clint swallowed; trying his best to ignore the voice that demanded that he ran, as far and as fast as he could; but there was nowhere to run, the only thing he could do was confess, “So, like, I happen to have a vagina.” Clint flinched at his own words, of all the ways he could of put it, he had to say that.  
Marcus looked at him like Clint had just told him he was actually part octopus and had four more limbs; despite the circumstances Clint couldn’t help but laugh, cool, calm and confident Marcus not looking entirely sure of himself was something new.  
“Wait you’re transsexual? I saw a documentary on that."  
Oh god, he’d seen a documentary, those ranged from being actually informative (the rare) to being awfully bigoted and just generally ridiculous (the norm). “Yeah, I uh-“ What the hell was he meant to say at this point?  
“That’s like- that’s cool.” Marcus stumbled over his words.  
“Cool.” Clint repeated, bobbing his head in an awkward nod  
After a few moments of awkward silence the confident smirk returned to Marcus’ face. “So, you want to continue?”  
“What?”  
And then Clint was pressed up against the caravan door for the second time that evening.


	6. Chapter Six

Clint was curled up against Marcus' side, his clothes on the ground with the older boys, only the bandages that were wrapped around his chest remained in place, well actually, even those were skewered. The sound of the door swinging open didn’t alert the resting couple but the loud and deliberate coughing did.  
Marcus grabbed at the blanket yanking it over himself, as Clint unknowingly had basically taken the entire blanket in his sleep. Oh Jesus, if it weren’t for his subconscious being a blanket hog they'd all know. Clint’s heart hammered in his chest as he realised what had just happned.  
"Well it looks like you two had fun," Jay snorted at the terror that was written on his roomies boyfriend's face.  
"Couldn't possibly of been more fun than leading ponies around in circles for hours." Nate muttered.  
Jay collapsed on his bed yanking of his boots, "So Clint, you crashing with us?" He laughed.  
The archer blushed bright red, as Nate wordlessly tossed him his clothing.

"This is bulshit!" Clint yelled as the arrow knocked the ball but still refused to stick into the bouncing green devil.  
"Well you’re improving," Marcus laughed at Clint's frustration.  
"It's been weeks and I still haven't managed to shoot a single ball, statistically I should have managed to do it in accident at this point." The archer was fuming at this point; it hadn't taken him this long to hit the target.  
"Clint, come on, your being to hard on yourself, I hadn't even managed to hit a single bullseye in three months and four months in and your- THINK FAST!" The lion tamer shouted, chucking a tennis ball into the air.  
Clint didn't even think about what he was doing as he yanked back the string letting an arrow fly, it collided with the ball mid air.  
"See it wasn't that hard was it?"  
Clint glared at Marcus. The lion tamer just gave him a confident smirk in return.  
“So wanna come back to mine?”  
Clint chewed at his lip, he liked Marcus, he really, really did but he was freaking out, he just needed to halt everything and breathe. He had spent the last few months working and training flat out, it had only just really caught up to him everything that had happened, and well a relationship on top of all that wasn’t helping him cope.  
“I think I’ll just head back to mine,” He offered Marcus a small smile, “I’m sort of exhausted.”  
Marcus’ face clouded over, his smirk turning to a scowl, “Yeah, whatever.”  
Clint watched his back as Marcus stalked off, the archer wasn’t entirely sure of what happened.

“I wanna ride that one!” The girl shouted pointing at a white pony that was currently being ridden by another little girl.  
“Well she’s already being ridden but you could-“  
“I want that one!” The girl interrupted, she looked like she was about to burst into a full on tantrum.  
Clint glanced desperately towards the girl’s mother who was engaged in conversation with her husband, completely ignoring the presence and behavior of her child.  
“Okay, you can wait for her to be finished.” Clint smiled at the girl, stepping past her towards the next child in line.  
“But I’m ahead of her!” The girl wailed as Clint started leading the second girl towards the tethered ponies.  
“If you want to ride a specific pony you have to wait.” Marcus appeared out of nowhere, his words were so simple yet they calmed the little girl immediately, Clint wanted to scream, how come he couldn’t manage that?  
The white pony finished her last round and the little girl was lead around in a few circles, her mother pausing her conversation just long enough to give them the five bucks.  
An hour more passed by, where Clint tried his best to deal with bratty five year olds, they really needed to invest in more pretty white and palomino ponies, before Clint was finally allowed off shift.  
Marcus who had been waiting on the sidelines, watching as Clint dealt with the children and ponies alike peeled himself off the fence he had been leaning on. “There are a few hours until we need to get dressed.” Marcus grinned at him.  
Clint desperately just wanted to spend sometime alone, you didn’t get much alone time when you worked at the circus, rooming with two other guys, and working with a whole bunch didn’t leave you to be very self indulgent. “Maybe later, I kinda want a breather before the show.”  
The scowl returned to Marcus’ face, “What is it?”  
“What’s what?”  
“You never want to be around me anymore.”  
“We’re around each other plenty.”  
“Don’t you want to be with me?”  
Clint paused, looking at Marcus’ mournful eyes, “Of course I do. I just sometimes need to be alone.”  
“If you really loved me you’d want to spend time with me.”  
Clint sighed, he reached his hand out wrapping it around Marcus’ at this point they were away from the eyes of the crowds, instead surrounded by the caravans.  
“Come on then, don’t want to waste the time until the show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updating


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